The Prejudice Of Ignorance
by A Dwimor
Summary: When no one "normal" is available to babysit Harry for the entire summer, Petunia decides to look up one of the freaks. She settles on the one she knows the best: Severus Snape.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: I am still working on my other projects, things are just moving slowly and I decided to indulge this plot idea. Thanks for reading. :) I do not own Harry Potter.**

Petunia Dursley sneered as she exited the passenger side of Vernon's sedan, her look of disgust as she took in her surroundings mirrored by her husband, who stayed sitting in the driver's seat. In the back of the idling car, Dudley was far too absorbed in his gameboy to notice the world around him. Smashed against the other side of the back seat, Harry Potter was trying not to hyperventilate.

He had been told to pack his things. Double time. Now after a long drive, they were here; a dirty narrow street in a dirty crooked town, with run down row houses, garbage strewn about, and the nearby river polluting the air with it's stench. Hedwig hooted soothingly in her cage beside him.

"Make that bloody bird be quiet!" Snapped Uncle Vernon.

"Sorry." Harry mumbled. He didn't know where they were, he didn't know why they were here, and the anxiety in the pit of his stomach made him more docile than normal. Maybe they would reconsider dumping him or at least tell him what was happening if he made himself as obliging as possible.

. . .

Petunia stepped gingerly up to the door half hidden from the car by a tiny recessed porch. She noted the boarded up windows and the excess of cobwebs and dirt. Apparently the creep was just as slovenly as his father. She poked the doorbell with the very tip of her finger. A crash of breaking glass accompanied the chime, punctuated by a volley of curses and thudding.

The door flew open, and Petunia was frozen in the dark gaze of Severus Snape. He looked as thin as he had been when he was a teenager, his hair was messy, his clothes rumpled. His eyes were bloodshot, but they were still that mesmerizing, impossible black. She suppressed a shudder, and tried to avoid looking him directly in the face.

"Tuney?!" The man croaked. "What the HELL. . . !"

Petunia wrinkled her nose. It was nearly midday, but Severus looked like he had just woken up, and judging from the smell of his breath was probably nursing a hangover. If the man was anything like his father Tobias on liquor, Harry - the son of Severus' rival - would be coming back to Surrey a grateful boy, happy to be back and eager to please. She suppressed a smirk. She should have thought of this ages ago.

"Snape." Petunia sneered. "We're leaving Lily's brat with you. Vernon has a VERY important business trip to Australia, and there is no one else we could give him to. He certainly can't go with us."

"How the HELL - " Severus began.

He was interrupted by Vernon roaring at Harry by the car. The brute lost patience with the boy, who was struggling to get his trunk out of the boot. He shoved him aside and heaved it out and threw it to the curb next to Hedwig, then grabbed the boy in a viselike grip by the back of his neck and marched him to the door.

Snape watched the proceedings with the detached bewilderment of a half asleep drunk whose worldview was being thoroughly nuked before his eyes as Vernon forced the boy's head down and screamed in his ear.

"You better watch yourself boy! If you're a hellion and we have to pay damages, I'll take it out of your hide when we get back! You hear?!" Vernon roared, shaking the boy slightly.

"Yes Uncle -"

"Speak up!"

"YES UNCLE VERNON!"

Vernon let go of the boy's neck, only to cuff him upside the head. "Don't shout at me, whelp!" He barked. He turned and practically ran back to the car. At no point had he looked Snape in the face.

Petunia spun on her heel, shouting over her shoulder as Vernon honked the horn. "We'll be gone the whole summer! You'll find he can make himself useful. We don't tolerate his idleness at home."

With that, Petunia hopped in the car and their perfect normal family sped away.

Severus Snape blinked, and slid down the door frame, sitting down on the stoop with a thud. The boy was standing where Vernon Dursley had left him, his head still slightly lowered. A flash of green eyes met black, as the boy peered cautiously through his fringe.

Severus put his face in his hands and swore.


	2. Chapter 2

The boy had complied instantly with Snape's terse order to "heave his carcass through the door". He stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, twitching with uncertainty as the older man dragged his trunk and owl into the house. If house it could be called. It was more of a rundown shack, but it was still ten times better than Privet Drive as far as he was concerned, simply because his relatives were not in residence. Even Snape was better than them. He hoped.

His professor shut the door, and turned to look at his new charge. Apparently that brash Gryffindor bravery only lasted the school year. Harry Potter was still in the spot Snape had left him, his eyes downcast, and his fists clenched at his sides, his entire body stiff.

"Right." Snape muttered, as he scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'm too hungover for this." He stomped over to the kitchen, retrieved a hangover cure from his cupboards, and slammed the doors. Harry flinched. Snape caught the motion as he turned around. He eyed the boy for a moment, then sighed and downed the potion.

"Your relatives didn't tell you where they were taking you, did they?" Snape grumbled. "I suppose you wouldn't have gotten in the car if they had."

Harry looked up and shook his head.

"Verbal answers, if you please." Snape snapped.

"No sir. They just told me to pack my things and get in the car. Then we came here." Harry mumbled. "Where is here sir?"

"Spinner's End, Cokeworth. Your mother and your aunt grew up here." Snape growled. Might as well tell the boy, he figured, as short of obliviation he wasn't going to be able to explain away how Petunia knew him and where to find him.

Harry smirked. "I bet aunt Petunia hates that she came from here."

Snape's lip twitched.

The boy's eyes abruptly widened when he realized he was also insulting his most volatile professor's place of residence. "Sorry sir. . . ! I didn't mean -"

"No, you're right boy, it's a shithole." Snape grimaced.

Harry gaped up at him.

Snape ignored his student's shock. He moved to the owl cage, and opened the door, letting Hedwig out. She hooted appreciatively and flew to perch on the dusty mantle above the small fireplace. He stared at the owl for a minute, trying to regain his tenuous grip on reality. Mornings were always hard. Except it was afternoon. . . Whatever. Regardless, he was suffering from a hangover and currently had Harry Bloody Potter, boy-who-lived-to-be-a-pain-in-his-side standing in the living room of his childhood dwelling, right in the bull's-eye of a morass of memories and history he hadn't wanted the boy to know.

Plus, it appeared his previous perception of the boy was false, if the way he had been treated when his dearest family dumped him on the porch was any indication of his life so far. That added a nice frosting of guilt for the cake of reality.

"Sir?" Came a timid voice.

Snape sighed. "Yes?"

"I. . . Thought most purebloods. . . Didn't live so closely with muggles, sir?" Harry was peering cautiously through his fringe again, apparently wary of the reaction to his question.

Polite way to ask why he lives in a muggle slum, Severus supposed.

"I'm a halfblood like you, boy." The man snapped.

The boy's eyes - Lily's eyes, bright green eyes - widened again. Snape turned his head back to look at the now napping owl, trying to control the confusing mix of anguish, guilt, and hate swirling in his gut at seeing _those_ eyes in _that_ face in _this_ house. . . And a strange wistfulness.

Snape snorted to himself. He'd better stay off the sauce while the boy was stuck here. This much alcohol induced self pity and introspective moping couldn't be healthy. He knew he would have been a shit father anyway. No point in thinking about what could have been.

"Was your mum a muggleborn too?" Harry queried.

Snape shook himself, and snorted. "M' mum was a pureblood witch of the name of Prince. Married a muggle."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Snape cut off the inevitable advent of more questions by ripping his wand out of his shirt sleeve and levitating Harry's trunk up the staircase, and jogging after it. The boy followed hesitantly.

Severus kicked open the door to his childhood bedroom, and it hit the wall with a satisfying crack. Behind him, he saw the boy jump and fold his arms comfortingly around himself. The boy looked around the nearly empty room. Only a small chest of drawers and a rickety single mattress filled the space.

"You can stay here until we contact Dumbledore." Snape grumbled. "I'll go get some linens." The man stomped out of the room, and the trunk fell to the wooden boards with a thud.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the the reviews! :)**

Harry moved to sit on the bed. He let himself flop backwards, and stared up at the moldy ceiling. He smiled. It was a bit better than the mattress he used at the Dursley's, and definitely better than the cupboard. The room was bigger than he was used to, too.

If Snape wasn't a bastard, and if he got to stay, maybe the summer wouldn't be so bad. He would love to stay with the Weasley's, of course, but he doubted there was space for him there for the entire break, from what Ron had said. Besides which. . . He didn't think he would fit. They were bubbly, and comfortable, and loving, where he was reserved, and nervous, and cold. . .

Harry got up, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then sighed and went to the window. It had started raining. He could see through the grimy glass into a skinny alley, lined by the tiny back gardens of the other houses, which were quickly turning into mud pits.

The floor squeaked behind him. Harry whirled, and was confronted with a scowling Snape clutching a pile of flannel sheets and a scratchy wool blanket. He handed it off to the boy. A waft of lavender caught his nose.

"I trust you know how to make a bed?" Snape queried with a sneer.

"Yes sir." Harry mumbled, fighting a scowl. "Who doesn't? It is fairly straightforward."

"Watch your cheek, Potter." Snape barked.

Harry stiffened, but Snape just whirled and left, though the effect was diminished because of the lack of his normal dark robes. Rumpled and slept in jeans and a sweater simply couldn't measure up to wizard garb for drama. The boy stifled a snicker.

...

Ten minutes later, Harry came down the stairs and entered the kitchen. He stopped, confronted with the image of Severus Snape sitting at table with his head resting on the surface, his hand clutching a mug of coffee.

"Sir?" Harry ventured.

Snape's head shot up, blood shot eyes locking with Harry's.

"Oh for feck's sake." Snape muttered, then sighed. "You're still here."

Harry nodded.

Snape rubbed his eyes. "I flooed the school. The headmaster is on an errand somewhere in South America. Merlin knows why. Could send an owl, but that would be pointless. The Weasleys are on a trip to see their son in Romania, so you can't stay there. Their wards are trash, anyway. Anyone else in the muggle world is out of the question. So you're stuck here, boy."

Snape glared, as if waiting for an immature tantrum over staying with his greasy git of a professor.

Harry folded his arms in front of him. "Alright," he murmured. "Thanks, sir. Sorry about my aunt."

Snape blinked, then turned away. "You don't have control over the actions of your guardians, boy," he muttered tiredly. "It's not your fault." The man stood, and walked over to open the ancient looking refrigerator.

"Have you had lunch?"

Harry shook his head. "No sir."

The man shut the refrigerator with a snap, then stormed past Harry.

"Never any food in this goddam house." Snape muttered. He ripped open the front door, and gestured impatiently.

"Come on then!"

Harry darted past him out into the rainy street. A couple ragged looking boys across the road a bit younger than himself watched as Snape exited the house and very visibly locked it. He turned, and noticing their scrutiny, clicked his teeth and spoke. "Yer mum better?"

"Aye sir!" The taller one answered. "She and the baby are fit. She tol' us to tell you thanks for the potion."

Snape nodded in acknowledgment and headed off down the street, Harry following.

"Sir?" Harry murmured.

"What, boy?" Snape sighed. Harry took that as permission to continue.

"Will the ministry be mad you gave a muggle a potion?"

"She's a squib, Potter. Her husband is a muggle, but he knows about the wizarding world." Snape answered. ". . . What he doesn't appear to know anything about however, is bloody birth control," Snape muttered.

Harry blushed and choked, trying not to laugh. The older man just snorted.

"They've had seven brats in as many years! Like rabbits, they are. She's too old for it."

Harry laughed outright this time, then glanced at his teacher speculatively.

"Do you have kids, sir?" Harry queried.

"No." Snape snapped. He hunched his shoulders against the rain and sped up.

Harry took the hint, and kept his mouth shut for the rest of the walk.

...

Their destination appeared to be a rather rundown hole of a pub, it's shuddering neon sign proclaiming "Fresh Fish And Chips!" Harry paused as his teacher went through the door, his boot heels striking sharply on the floor, and wondered if he was supposed to wait outside or not, then shrugged and hopped in.

The grizzled gray haired barkeep waved a dirty towel in Snape's direction.

"Severus Snape, crawled out o' yer cave, 'ave ye? . . . What'll ye be 'avin'?"

"John. . . We'll have Fish, chips, and peas with pea wet. Two sets." Snape drawled.

The barkeep caught sight of Harry for the first time, hovering uncertainly behind his professor. He raised an eyebrow, shooting a curious glance at Snape.

"This yer boy, Sevrus? Would swear I's back in time, 'cept he doesn't 'ave much o yer look when it comes to the nose and eyes, and ye didn't wear glasses." The barkeep narrowed his eyes at Snape. "He's even got a nice shiner."

Snape whirled to look at Harry, and swore. A bruise had blossomed on his face from where he'd been popped one by his uncle. Severus reached toward the boy and grabbed his chin, gently moving his head so he could see the mark better. Harry held himself stiff, but didn't back up.

Snape let go and sighed, rubbing his own face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice the bruise forming from where he knocked you. I've got some balm you can rub on it when we get back to the house."

"That's ok." Harry shrugged. "You didn't do it."

Snape blinked, a frown on his face, then turned back to the bartender, who was still looking at him suspiciously.

"I didn't do it! His mother's brother in law did when they dropped him off." Snape protested, throwing his hands in the air.

John the barkeep grunted, then set about getting their order sent into the tiny kitchen. He came back out to where Snape and Harry had seated themselves on the spinny bar stools. The boy held still, not giving into the temptation to twirl like a dervish, instead examining a little card of local events, set between the condiments.

"So, what's yer boy's name, Severus?" John queried.

". . . Wren."

"Hippie name, eh?"

"We can't all be named John." Severus grumbled. "It. . . was his mother's favorite bird."

"Was?"

Snape cleared his throat. "She's dead."

"Sorry. Were ye married to her?"

Snape glowered. "That's a bit personal, don't you think?"

"So, born on the wrong side of t' blanket then." John nodded.

Snape rolled his eyes with a huff. Harry had tuned into the conversation by this time, and looked to be about to ask what "born on the wrong side of the blanket" meant. To Severus' relief he was forestalled by the delivery of their food in paper bags, set on the bar by a pimply blond haired teen boy, who scurried back into the kitchen quick as a wink.

Snape stood and handed over a couple of pounds, and gathered their things.

"Come in whenever ye want Severus. The boy can 'ave a puddin' on the house."

"Thanks." Snape said, and they made their way out the door


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for the reviews, etc. :) Harry will be turning twelve in this fic.**

Snape was ripped out of his thoughts by Harry's quiet voice as they walked back to his hovel.

"That was funny the way you let him create a history for me, sir."

"Eh? Oh. . . People believe your story more easily if they think they ferreted it out themselves." Snape murmured.

They fell silent for a while as they trudged along in the now gently misting rain.

"Were wrens really my mum's favorite bird, sir?" Harry queried.

Snape scowled, glanced at the boy, and caught a flash of his green eyes, looking at him like the provider of manna from heaven. Snape's expression softened slightly, and he relented.

"Yes. She was fond of their songs, and the stories behind them." Snape murmured.

"What stories, sir?"

"There is an old Aesop fable, that tells of a tiny wren who proved it's status as king of the birds, by engaging in a contest of strength." Severus answered, his low voice becoming slightly sing-song, hypnotic. "The wren hides itself in the feathers of a great eagle, and when the eagle flies as high and as far as it can, the fresh little wren leaves the back of the larger bird, and flies higher, and farther, winning the contest and proving it's cleverness, and the value of intelligence over brute strength. They are also sacred to the druids. Their complicated songs are used to divine the future. It is said that the fairy queen took the form of a wren." Snape's eyes were unfocused, far away as he continued. "Many say that a feather from the bird will serve as a charm against disaster. . . I found a wren feather in the park when we were children, and gave it to your mother. She wore it about her neck on a hemp cord, for many years. . ."

Snape fell silent. Harry peered up at his professor.

". . .No one ever tells me anything about my mother. Just that she was pretty, and good at charms. All I hear about is my father. It's like she only existed for him." Harry whispered.

A guttural snarl tore from Snape's throat, making Harry jump.

"She was more than just pretty and good at charms! And she certainly didn't exist solely to be your father's arm candy!" Snape hissed. "She was brilliant, and kind, and fierce, and her magic burned like a thousand suns! Plants and animals responded to her like nothing I've ever seen. It was like the earth itself welcomed her as it's own, like it was saying, 'this is our witch! She is ours and we are hers.'" Snape's fury ebbed abruptly, and he was left just looking tired. "She protected what and whomever she considered her own with an undying loyalty. Your life is proof of this."

"You. . . weren't just acquaintances who lived in the same town, were you." Harry mumbled. Snape shook off his strange mood, and glared at him, suddenly remembering who he was talking to.

"It's not really any of your business, boy." Snape snapped. He sped up, clutching their bag of takeaway like it was going to try to escape. Harry sighed, and trotted after him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites. :) Just a note on chapter length, the reason they are so short is because I am trying to remain commited to the story by writing a bit every day and posting it, so that I don't get distracted and write at a glacial pace, which is what is happening with my other in progress fics. Also, my internet access is going to be a bit spotty for the next week and a half, so I might not post as regularily as every day.**

Snape slammed their bag of lunch on his wobbly table, and extricated their portions. He sat himself down with a huff, and drew half to himself, looking rather like a grouchy cat hunched over it's bowl, and started munching. Harry hovered uncertainly. Snape glanced up and scowled.

"Well, Potter, if you're too good for pub food I'll just eat it myself!" Snape hissed.

Harry's eyes widened comically as he threw himself into the seat opposite his professor. "No no no! I want it, I'm starving!" He pleaded, but still didn't take anything.

"Then eat, boy!"

"All of it, sir?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Well I got two of everything, didn't I?!"

Harry grinned, heaved himself at the collection of food in the center of the table, drew it over to himself, and did a passable imitation of his professor, hunching over his lunch like some kind of feral animal. He shoveled in bite after bite, finally losing steam half way through his meal. He tried for a few more mouthfuls, then wrapped up the remainder and furtively shoved it into his pockets. He licked his fingertips happily, and looked up to find Snape staring.

Harry hunched his shoulders. "What's wrong, sir?"

"Besides being horrified by your deplorable manners, I was simply wondering whether you have eaten in the last week. . . " Snape drawled.

Harry stared back, pensively. He'd gotten a grand total of one can of soup, two pieces of toast, and two chicken drumsticks that he dug out of the trash, in the past few days. Sure the professor was the mean bat of the dungeons, and he had already tried to get help from Dumbledore, but the man at least knew his aunt when she was young, he knew how she was, maybe. . . But he would wait. Wait and see what this milder Snape who seemed to have been chummy with his mum was like. Harry shrugged in answer to Snape's not-quite-a-question.

"I haven't been eating much, lately, sir."

Snape was still for a moment, his eyes locked on Harry's, then abruptly shot to his feet, knocking his chair over. Harry jumped, his breathing erratic, but the man just strode noiselessly over to his cupboards, and retrieved a vial. He walked back and held it out to Harry, who cautiously took it. Snape went back to his seat, righted it, and sat down.

"What is it?" Harry queried.

"Stomach soother. So you don't vomit from overeating," Snape said, quietly, his face blank.

"Thank you."

Snape waved his hand dismissively, then summoned a newspaper, and disappeared behind it.

Harry downed the potion.

"Don't let that food you stuffed in your pockets rot in your room," Snape muttered from the other side of his wall of paper and ink.

"I won't sir."

". . . I know."


	6. Chapter 6

**I had three minutes to post this this morning before I had to leave and drive like the devil, so it hasn't been thoroughly edited. Thanks to all for reviews etc.**

The rest of Harry's first day staying with his professor was quiet. He was allowed to choose a book from one of the lower shelves in the house - an interesting text called "The History of Magical Britain, From The Druids To Dumbledore" - and they sat reading for most of the day, barring a quick interlude where Snape dug up some old oats and made porridge, while muttering about "foul glop" and running down to the shops in the morning.

They ate their dinner in the sitting room, each ensconced in their own armchair. Harry found it amusing that the surprisingly comfortable seats were the only two in the shabby house, besides the hard kitchen chairs. The man seemed to be against couches, as couches "invited too many people to clutter up the scenery and stay too long."

It was nigh on eleven when Snape surfaced from his own book, and noticed Harry falling asleep, drooling into his reading material. The man rolled his eyes.

"Potter."

The boy snoozed on.

"POTTER!"

Harry woke with a start, and leapt to his feet, breathing hard, his eyes darting around wildly.

"Harry! Calm down. Merlin's beard, boy," Snape growled exasperatedly, but without real heat.

Harry focused his gaze on his professor, somewhat shocked at the usage of his first name.

"Sorry," the boy muttered. "I'll go upstairs."

"That bruise needs attention, first." Snape stood, once again going to his magical potions cupboard. He returned with a small tin of bruise salve, and sat back down in his chair.

"Would you like me to apply it or would you like to do it yourself?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, his green eyes searching; one startlingly bright in comparison to the discoloration around it.

Snape's face was oddly blank again. Harry shrugged.

"If you don't mind, sir, I've never used the stuff before, could you do it?" The boy murmured.

Snape nodded, twitched his hand, and Harry's chair flew up behind him. Harry sat down and fixed his gaze at a point over the older man's shoulder. Snape removed the lid from the tin and set it on his lap. He scooped up a bit of the salve, leaned forward and gently began applying it around the boy's eye, and across his cheekbone.

Harry tried to zone out, listening to the crackle of the fire. It was an unusually cold night, so Snape had grumblingly produced some wood and lit it. It was actually kind of a pleasant evening. They hadn't had any quarrels, and the older man had been surprisingly. . . not cordial, but neutral. Maybe he would actually survive the summer. It was certainly shaping up to be better than being stuck at Privet Drive with the Dursleys. It was only the first day though.

Snape appeared to be slightly unfocused, as he dealt with the bruise on the boy's face. He finished with the salve, capped it, and set it on the ground. He stood, avoiding the boy's eyes. He began to speak, his voice quiet.

"The salve can be applied again tomorrow before we leave for the shops. The bruise should be gone after that. You should go upstairs. Get some sleep." Snape said, quietly, his hair hiding his face in the dim firelight. Harry nodded, and went to his room.

...

Snape was disturbed. Snape did not like to be disturbed. Snape liked things to be logical. Snape did not like surprises.

Things were shaping up to be very surprising.

The expected and the logical: Petunia sinks her claws gleefully into her link to the wizarding world; the boy, and exults in her status as caregiver of one of the most famous children in the magical world. The boy would grow up spoiled, morally deficient, demanding, and arrogant, but not abused.

The boy appeared to be abused. The opposite of demanding. He was possibly still arrogant. Possibly still a moth to the limelight. Either that, or he had grossly misread the boy's attitude at school, Snape grudgingly admitted to himself.

Regardless, further research was warranted. But first. . . a relevant amount of Firewhisky, damn it all.

...

Harry hopped along behind his professor, trying to keep up and avoid the puddles at the same time. The man had his shoulders back and was striding forward like he normally did at Hogwarts. Sans wizard robes of course, although he still looked fairly intimidating. His clothes were his normal all black; jeans, long sleeve shirt, combat boots, and a tight leather silver inlaid wrist cuff over his left sleeve, currently hidden under his long duster. When Harry had glanced at it for a quick second, all he could see was a vague celtic design.

Harry yanked down the cap Snape had given him to hide his scar and snickered to himself as he thought of the reactions from the man's students if they saw him with this muggle garb and his hair tied back. They'd probably all die of shock. He looked a bit punk or goth.

Snape whirled, looking back at his student impatiently.

"Well come on then!"

"I'm hurrying sir, you walk very fast." Harry protested.

Snape snorted.

"We are nearly there, Potter."

They turned the corner and were presented with the sight of a tiny independent grocery, slightly run down, but neat as a pin. There was no garbage laying about the small car park, and a slim older woman was sweeping the walk way in front of the store, apparently a lone warrior fighting against the filth of Cokeworth.

"Missus Vere." Snape rumbled in greeting as they passed, nodding to her.

"Severus! Who is this?!" The woman exclaimed, arresting their progress into the store.

"This is my son, Wren." Snape said, and shoved the boy forward.

"Your son?!" The woman's sharp grey eyes were wide.

Harry blinked rapidly, still not used to their cover. "Uh. . . Nice to meet you ma'am."

"Yes. . . It's nice to meet you too, young man." Mrs. Vere looked questioningly at Snape, who just raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'll leave you to your shopping then," the woman murmured, clearly dissatisfied with the amount of information she had received.

Snape dipped his head politely, walked in, collected a shopping trolley, and headed to the far side of the shop. He slid his eyes to the boy, knowing he wouldn't keep his mouth shut, and twitched his fingers, casting a muffilato.

"You know a lot of people here sir," Harry commented.

"That's unfortunately unavoidable when you live in one place for your entire life," Snape grumbled. "The news that I have a "son" will be known across the town by this evening."

Snape dodged small children, trolleys, and old women expertly, occasionally muttering a begrudging greeting if he was spoken to. It wasn't wise to alienate clannish working class town dwellers, as they could prove valuable. He finally arrived at his destination; the meat case. Harry's eyes were wide as he leaned against the glass. Snape held back a snicker of amusement.

"What's your preference, boy?" Snape rumbled.

Harry glanced up at him in shock. "Me sir?"

"Yes, you, you dunderhead. You are the only other individual set to consume whatever we purchase here." Snape grumbled.

"I never get to eat much meat sir. . . But I've always thought a nice roast seemed appealing." Harry said quietly.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but internally approved of the boy's forbearance. He had set no limits, and in a rare moment of generosity had expected no modesty in the boy's choice. He nodded, and ordered one roast, a chicken, and two expensive cuts of steak. Harry's eyes shone. Snape turned away, half in embarrassment at his minor indulgence of the brat, and half in guilt. The boy should at least have been fed properly when with his relatives, but it seemed he had not been. The excitement the boy displayed was all too familiar.

They next made their way to the produce, selecting potatoes, more vegetables suitable for soup to be made with their forthcoming chicken carcass, and a few pieces of fruit. Snape grabbed flour from the shelf stable section, as well as some more oats, and directed the boy to the biscuits.

"You may pick one package."

Harry picked out the cheapest, with a small smile of pleasure, though he had given a quick longing glance at some chocolate ones that were considerably more pricey. Snape rubbed his face tiredly.

"Wren, pick the one you want. I'm not rich, but I have enough money for a package of nice biscuits, for god's sake," Snape grumbled.

"I don't - " Harry began.

Snape glared.

Harry put the chocolate biscuits in the cart, with a shy smile.

They went to the checkout, paid, and exited the store.

Harry thanked him for the treat.

Snape, embarrassed and bemused in equal measure, nodded sharply, and re-examined his world view, which had once more tumbled around ass over tea kettle


	7. POI7

_**Thank you all for the encouragement!!!!**_

Snape had not bothered to shrink their grocery bags, so they divided them up and headed back to Spinner's End, at about mid-morning. Harry, apparently emboldened by the relative kindness he had so far been shown, decided to ask about the interesting design on the wrist cuff he kept catching glances of.

"Sir, the band on your wrist. . . what does it mean?" Harry murmured, peering up at his professor.

Snape did not slow his pace, remaining silent for a few moments.

Finally he spoke: "It symbolizes balance. . . of power, of the elements, of society, of nature, and of knowledge. The metal itself was washed in a sacred pool deep in the Caledonian highlands. It is imbued with protective qualities."

Harry frowned. "I didn't think stuff like that was real. I mean. . . what I learned at Hogwarts seems more. . . Science-y."

"There are places of power where the concentration of magic is more palpable. Our abilities are intertwined with the earth. Of course, not all magical folk adhere to this truth anymore, choosing to believe their magic is an independent quality they posses, rather than channel. This old truth undermines certain pureblood beliefs of superiority, which is ironic considering that most who still adhere to such teachings are old purebloods. Most old knowledge and traditions, and certain abilities of a type similar are labeled dark, by the ministry, and are dying out. . . though it is my belief that most are not truly intrinsically dark and your intent is what matters, especially considering the ministry only gains more power by outlawing certain practices and knowledge, and can only benefit from a handicapped and ignorant populace! I have seen a tickling charm kill a man, but a sacrificial spell labeled "dark" give life to a dying child, their parent willingly performing the spell!" Severus stopped his rush of speech, his eyes suddenly focusing on the familiar green eyes, the eyes of his old companion with whom he used to share such thoughts as he just expressed, but in the wrong face.

The boy seemed outraged at the thought of Ministry control, and did not notice that Severus was becoming outraged over something completely different. His hate was arrested by someone screaming, "Rus!"

Both Snape and Harry turned, and we're confronted by a weary looking woman dressed in form fitting brightly colored clothes, flashy but surprisingly practical heels, and rather garish makeup. Her hair was an unnatural blonde, and she looked to be a bit North of sixty. Her water blues eyes were wide in shock as she took in Severus and Harry.

"Mary." Severus dipped his head politely.

"Who's this then?!" The woman exclaimed, staring at Harry.

Severus to his surprise noted the boy shuffling closer to his side, shyly, as he answered; "This is Wren. My son."

The woman blinked rapidly, then turned to the boy and smiled at him. "Good t' meet ye, Wren. M' name's Angel, but m' friends call me Mary."

Harry, still rather uncertain, murmured a polite reply.

"Didn't Ken ye had a chil' 'Rus." The woman commented, turning to Snape, her curiosity apparent.

"It's an unexpected development." Severus muttered.

The woman nodded wisely. Her eyes slid to Wren, then back to Snape, a small smile on her lips. "Y'ave gorgeous green eyes, m'lad. Like yer mum's." With this pronouncement, the woman passed them by.

"Got to go 'ome and get some shut eye. us workin' girls need t' keep a good schedule." Mary shot over her shoulder, smirking slightly. "G'night m' boys."

Snape rolled his eyes heavenwards as he and Wren echoed her farewell. They continued on their walk. The older wizard silently counted the seconds, not surprised when he only reached fifteen before the boy asked his question.

"Where does Mary work, sir?"

"She's a prostitue." Snape replied bluntly.

Harry's eyes grew to resemble saucers.

It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be familiar with someone who could be considered the dregs of society by both wizards and muggles alike. Hell, he technically fit in the same social bracket; former convict and ex-terrorist most likely afflicted with PTSD who lived in a slum, and spent his time off term getting pissed on firewhisky and occasionally certain addictive drugs and potions. . . and it wasn't like the boy was actually his son, and had potentially been cheating on Wren's mother either (obviously), but he still felt the need to defend himself.

"I don't and have never patronized her particular business, boy, or anything like it, so don't look so horrified. She's always been rather motherly to the Cokeworth brats, she knew me since I was younger than you." Snape growled.

". . . oh."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"She was nice." Harry added.

"Yes."

"Aunt Petunia always said that prostitutes were 'uncouth slags' that couldn't find a man who would marry them." Harry commented.

"The bitch would say that," Snape growled. "Prostitution is just what Mary was forced to turn to to earn enough money to live on, Wren."

"how do you know her so well, sir?"

Snape looks suspiciously at the boy, searching for any hidden meaning in his question, but found none. he sighed. perhaps the boy would be morw willing to talk about his home life if he spoke about his own.

"my muggle father made me get a job at the factory the summer before my 5th Year. all my wages went to him, to "earn my keep." Snape spat." After I got the job, they reduced my hours. I knew he wouldn't be pleased, and I wasn't keen on his reaction, so among other things, I ended up begging on the high streets to try to supplement my pay. Mary found me, got the story from me, and gave me some of her earnings every week until I went back to Hogwarts. We became rather familiar." Snape fell silent after this clipped account.

They continued walking side-by-side. Harry occasionally glanced at his Guardian in a contemplative manner as they went back to the house.

"she knew my mother too, sir?" Harry finally ventured.

" Yes. We were always about town together. Mary would have remembered that."

". . . Did. . . you and my mum like each other?" Harry murmured.

"What kind of stupid question is that, Potter?! of course we liked each other, we were friends!" Snape growled.

"No. . . I mean _Liked_ each other." Harry mumbled.

"What the hell. . ." Snape abruptly realized what the boy meant and scowled. "Lily and I never dated, Potter. Nowind your own damn business!" Snape hissed.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry tried to chew his steak and garlic mash as quietly as he could. Snape had been Snappish the rest of the day after his "impertinent" question. While making dinner he had softened into a simple broody silence. He was currently hunched over his plate, black hair untidily hiding his face, one hand clutching a glass of firewhisky he had already refilled twice. As if sensing Harry's gaze, his head tilted up, and he scowled.

Harry stiffened in his chair, and shot his eyes down to his plate. Snape hadn't done anything like Uncle Vernon yet, but he didn't want to push the man. Apparently personal questions were off the menu, especially if it made him take to drink. Uncle Vernon only needed two helpings of whiskey to get tipsy, and three to get roaring drunk, despite his size. It always got bad for him after that.

"May I be excused?" Harry whispered. There was still some food on his plate, but his appetite had fizzled. "I don't want any more of my food." He shoved the plate away.

Snape shot out of his chair.

"Ungrateful brat! Who the hell do you think you are?!" Snape roared. "Bloody perfect Potter, spawned a friggin' perfect Potter, and he doesn't even act like a damn Potter! And I get saddled with him! The fecking Gods are laughing their asses off!"

Harry flinched, his eyes closed, head turned to the side, an automatic reaction to Snape advancing on him.

His eyes blinked open after a few seconds, to see Snape staring at him, a horrified look on his face.

"I'm sorry," Snape murmured, "I -,"

Harry's eyes rolled back into his head.

 _A boy about his own age with long dark hair stood before an aging, angry muggle man, chest heaving, black eyes burning with hate._

 _The scene changed. The boy was in the tiny moonlit garden of the Snape house, sitting next to a young girl with red hair, his head buried in her neck, his breaths shaky. She held a bloody cloth in her hand, torn from the edge of her dress, and Harry watched as she gently washed bright red blood from the side of the boy's face, as she hummed a low tune. The expression on her face alternated between rage and sadness as she attempted to help her friend. Her hand stilled finally, when she realized her patient had fallen asleep against her. She sighed, and adjusted her back as she leaned on the small tree behind her._

. . .

Harry opened his eyes to find himself on his bed, with Snape sitting on a chair, leaning over him worriedly. The man's face abruptly went blank.

"What-," Harry began.

"You fainted and hit your head." Snape murmured.

"No. . ." Harry whispered, "I saw something. . . You, I think, with an angry man, and then you in the garden with a girl with red hair. My mum. . . ? She was helping you. . . Cleaning your face. . ."

Snapes eyes were unfocused at first after this declaration, then abruptly snapped those wells of black back to the boy.

"Empathic magic," Snape commented, "feeling magic and memory of a place. Not many still have that ability. The druids especially prized such a gift. Not even Dumbledore or the Dark Lord have it."

"Did either of my parents?" Harry asked.

"Your mother." Snape muttered.

"The. . . vision. . . Was the older man your father?" Harry queried, cautiously.

"Yes."

"Is he. . . Still alive?"

"No. I killed him." Snape said, satisfaction evident in his tone.

Harry did not pull back in horror like Severus imagined he would at the blunt declaration. They boy merely cocked his head to the side, green eyes - Lily's eyes - looking at him meditatively, like he was figuring out a puzzle. Finally, the boy spoke.

"I used to imagine killing Uncle Vernon. When he was really awful, it made me feel better."

"Killing a tormentor for some is a catharsis. For others, it destroys them." Snape growled. He stood, and walked to the door.

"Get some sleep. It's late," Snape muttered, and left.

...

Harry woke early to find Snape seated at the breakfast table, head buried behind a book, hand clutching a cup of coffee. Harry quietly took his place where a plate of food was sat under a warming spell, and began to eat.

Snape's voice suddenly hit the air. "My mother took Lily and I to the sacred places in the highlands when we were your age. You inquired about old wizarding culture, do you wish to take a short but educational trip?"

Harry blinked rapidly, startled at the admittedly brusque but generous offer. His professor's eyes were narrowed, but his face was blank.

"Yes sir, I would love to." Harry murmured.

Snape nodded and stood, glancing across the table at the boy, then jerked his head away to glare at the wall. "We leave before dawn breaks. I will give resize a jacket and a good pair of boots for you. Prepare any toiletries you need, I will pack you a backpack of food, clothes, and supplies." He stalked out, leaving Harry to finish eating.


	9. Chapter 9

_Twenty years ago, in Spinner's End:_

Lily knows.

Lily knows when Severus doesn't meet her at the park after dinner.

She can hear her parents arguing, their tones angry. Glass shatters. Something happened at the factory. Her mother intends to find work. Her father doesn't like it.

She waits until after they go to bed and she can hear the slow, deep breaths from Petunia on the other side of the room, grabs her knife from under her mattress, then crawls out her window, leaving her wand. She pulls her beloved patched black jacket closer around herself as she darts down the street, hopping from shadow to shadow, wary of others who stalk around in the night.

Mary and El, standing on a street corner in high heels tell her to be careful as she passes by, brows furrowed, worried. Tell her to avoid Third Street tonight. She doesn't plan on going that far. She fades into the shadow of a rubbish bin when two well dressed, clean young men walk by, voices booming, jovial.

She heads to Second Street, heads for the seedy little pub the inhabitants of Spinner's End simply call Spinner's Pub.

Lily sticks her head around the open doorframe, peers through the smoke. She is pleased (but also not) to see a certain man with greying brown hair and watery blue eyes drunk in a booth with his mates, a half empty glass of whiskey in front of him. The place is loud tonight. Filled with angry men.

She heads away from the pub, down Spinner's End (though their whole neighborhood goes by the name of the street). She stops and stares in the windows of one of the houses, sees a dark haired woman with a bruised face illuminated in the light of a glitchy telly passed out on the couch, a syringe on the floor.

Lily's green eyes are icy, and she doesn't try the door to check if the woman is dead or alive. She goes to the tiny back garden instead, goes to the base of a small tree, kneels beside the small dark heap on the ground, lifts Severus to lean against her. His body is stiff and tense at the touch. She tears a bit of the hem of her dress, uses it to wipe his bloody face. One dark eye opens, then closes, and he relaxes, buries his head in her neck, only semi-conscious as a feeling of safety envelops him.

His breathing evens out, and he falls asleep.

Lily sighs, and leans her back against the tree behind them. She wishes she could close her mind's eye as she sees what happened a few hours before, her magic revealing it to her. She will have to be gone by morning, but in the meantime, she will have time to share her natural healing magic, mingling it with Severus' own. Then at least he will be able to stand.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you for your reviews, etc. To the commenter who reviewed about them getting up at dawn: when you're going somewhere inportant, sometimes you have to get up at 04:00 in the blessed A.M. I'm sorry you found it unrealistic. Also, I am not intimately familiar with the times of sunrise in the Highlands, however, I did not explicitly mention the actual time or date in relation to dawn.**

Snape, true to his word, knocked on his guest's door just a bit before dawn, the seal on the ring he had put on just a few minutes before causing a clattering sound when his knuckles hit the cheap board. He stepped through, to find the boy standing in the middle of the room, his arms full of his personal items, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Severus silently handed the boy a waterproof backpack, half filled with supplies. The child messily shoved his things into the bag and slung it onto his back, stumbling slightly. Snape reached out a hand to steady Harry, then abruptly stepped back as if he had been burned. He turned, and strode out the door, his short black travelling coat swirling around him. "Time to go," he intoned.

They apparated to a windswept hillside. The land sloped and rolled out ahead, growing more imposing farther away. A small stone lychgate stood between them and the vast landscape before them, eerie in the twilight of summer nights in the Highlands.

"We cannot apparate directly to the sacred groves. They are unreachable if you do not pass through the gate, and continue on foot down the right path. Thus, why we brought supplies for multiple days," Snape explained. He seemed to be making an extra effort to be . . . Kind. The Snape-ish version of kind anyway.

He pulled a bag out of his pockets and returned it to it's normal size with a snap of his fingers. He then pulled child sized robes of a brown color, with gold trim, and a pair of worn leather boots. He handed them to Harry.

"These are robes that bear the colors of the Potter House. You can change behind the cairn over there. I will wait for you, but do not take forever. Muggle clothes are not suitable for our destination."

Shocked, Harry murmured his thanks.

. . .

Though they spoke little, the hours passed by quickly for Harry. The path grew smaller and more treacherous as they headed into the hills, and once Snape had to save him from falling. He still felt a bit lightheaded when he thought about it. Though dangerous and frightening, he could still appreciate the beauty of the place. The mist caressed the mountains before them, and the foliage occasionally rustled with small creatures, including a pretty fox Harry was sure was following them.

They stopped that night in the lee of a hill, the last bit of true day making it glow with an ethereal light. Snape pulled a bed roll out of his pack, and gestured for Harry to do the same. He left for a few moments to gather peat for a fire, dried it with a gesture, and set it alight in between their two sleeping mats.

Harry yawned, and rubbed his eyes. His belly growled loudly, but he could barely remain upright. He had never walked so far on foot before. The Dursleys had never taken him anywhere, and while he was used to hard work, he never got to leave the house, much.

Snape tossed him a canteen of water and some dried meat.

"I know you are tired, but if you do not eat more now, you will be weak in the morning." Snape murmured. "If you think I will carry you there, you are sorely mistaken. You must make the trip under your own power, or you cannot go at all."

The man stood and began to circle the camp.

Harry nibbled on the meat he'd been given, considering the statement, watching his professor as he set wards around them as night fell. His eyes widened when he realized the man was casting the magic with strange twitches from his fingers and movements of his hands, as if he we were physically weaving his spells. His wand was not in sight.

Dumbledore and Voldemort were famous for their unparalleled abilities, especially their wandless magic. Apparently, they had a rival.

Harry watched in fascination.

Snape whispered one last word and clenched his fists in a a ritualistic movement. He sat down, his dark hair hiding his eyes, the wind whipping it about his face.

Harry studied him thoughtfully as the older man dug around in his small pack, withdrawing some preserved meat.

"Sir. . . At school, they say you can read minds. Is that true?" Harry queried.

Snape stopped eating and looked up, his eyes narrowed, the firelight playing off his cheekbones. "Why? Do you have something to hide, boy?"

"I was just curious," Harry shrugged.

Snape studied him for a moment.

"Yes. I have some ability in the art of Legillimancy, which the uneducated call mind reading. . . Though. . . Legillimens, when affected by emotion have a more difficult time seeing the truth in their subject's mind. Clearing your thoughts and reaching a meditative state is essential for legillimancy and occlumency alike. However, such a state is not always achievable."

"Occlumens?"

"Those who can close their minds to legillimens." Snape responded.

"Do you know anyone who can do that sir?"

"Yes. Dumbledore. Voldemort. Myself. Among others. Most purebloods have at least rudimentary shields." Snape murmured.

"Could I learn, sir?"

"Possibly. Your mother was quite skilled."

"How would I start?" Harry queried, eagerly.

Snape huffed a laugh. "Start by clearing your mind. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. Feel your lungs expanding and collapsing. Focus on that. Think of nothing but breathing. To progress, you must first be able to calm your mind this way. It is the first, most essential step."

"What do I do next?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Next, you stop asking questions and go to sleep," Snape answered firmly, and flopped down on his bed roll with his back facing the boy.

Harry sighed.

...

The boy woke a few hours later. The fire had burned down to a few embers, and the night was chilly. He looked across it to his professor, hoping he was awake to fix it. The man was still asleep. His blanket was kicked down at his feet, and he was twisting around uncomfortably, his face scrunched in discomfort and bathed in sweat as he muttered incomprehensibly to himself.

"Sir?" Harry whispered, worried.

The man didn't respond.

"SIR!"

Snape jolted awake with a gasp, and in a split second had his wand in his hand, pointed between the boy's eyes, his chest heaving.

Harry yelped in surprise.

Snape blinked and shook his head as if to rid it of his fog, and lowered his wand.

"It. Is not wise. . . To wake me from a dead sleep, for a multitude of reasons." Snape ground out, a scowl on his face.

"I'm sorry sir, but the fire went out and I was cold, and you looked like you were having a nightmare," Harry mumbled.

Snape sighed and added more fuel and relit the fire, then got up and stumbled into the bushes beyond the ring of light. Harry could hear what sounded like someone vomiting, and after a few minutes the man came back a grimace on his face. He cast a freshening charm on his bedroll, and threw himself into it, groaning as he pulled his blanket over his head.

"Are you alright sir? Harry asked, worried.

"I'm FINE. Go to sleep, boy." Snape growled from under his blanket.

Harry frowned, but snuggled back under his covers and tried to go back to sleep


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry this isn't longer, but at least it is something.**

The seconds ticked by like hours in the dark. Snape's body shook, his stomach roiled, and he cursed himself. Snape didn't know how he let himself get so bad. He'd always sworn to himself that he would never emulate the many weaknesses of his father, and now here he was, shuddering miserably under a blanket on a gods forsaken hillside, ten feet away from his own vomit.

Withdrawal was a bitch.

Panic rose in his chest, and his hands lifted and fluttered around his head. He tried to force down the sensation, but nothing helped. He resorted to clawing up fistfuls of grass and moss at his sides with his fingernails, gouging into the earth.

Snape scrunched his eyes closed.

" _How do you float off the swings like that?" A small skinny boy asked his red haired companion._

" _I let go." The girl smiled._

" _I did!"_

" _No. You're trying too hard. Let yourself feel the magic that lives here, and then, just. . . Let Go."_

Snape stilled his hands. Exhaled. Followed his energy into the earth and melted into the moss beneath him. Then he slept, though plagued by memories.

 _Two men stood on the battlements of an old ruined castle, the wind whipping at their robes._

" _Reach out with your magic, boy. Let it encompass you. Sense your strength. Then, force the winds to carry you, as you incant the spell. You must know your intent, and infuse it with power."_

" _Wouldn't it be easier to join with the magic present than fight against it? My lord?" The boy murmured._

" _Petrificus Totalusss." The Dark Lord hissed._

 _Severus was frozen in place. He twitched, angry, unable to move more than a centimeter, unease suffusing him. His Lord stood a few inches in front of him and watched him struggle, appraising him like a piece of meat. The boy hissed through his teeth in frustration._

 _The Dark Lord's hands shot out towards the younger man's throat, enclosing it in a viselike grip. The boy made quiet choking noises, his body shaking minutely. Just when he realized he would not see the next dawn, he was released from both his master's spell and his grip._

 _Voldemort watched dispassionately as the boy fell in a heap at his feet, gasping for breath, then spoke:_

" _Stand. Now."_

 _The boy struggled to his feet, head slightly lowered._

" _Look at me, boy."_

 _The young man lifted his head, and locked his eyes on his master's, dark coal burning with rage and humiliation._

 _The dark lord cast two more spells in tandem, and the boy was once more choking and unable to move. This time Snape did not just struggle. He let out a strangled scream and the Dark Lord was thrown backwards off of the battlements by a wave of energy, forcing him to release his spell, but he caught himself in midair and flew just out of reach, his aged but still handsome face twisted and ugly as he threw back his head and laughed._

" _Let this be a larger lesson boy. Capitulation and compromise are weakness and will only lead to domination. Only through exercising power and bending the world to your will can one be truly strong."_

 _Severus snarled and threw himself off the battlements, wand drawn._

 _The look on the older man's face as he threw up a shield to ward against a rather nasty curse thrown by his equally airborne opponent could almost be described as proud._


End file.
